Masala
by The Brat Prince
Summary: "He could imagine him standing in Agra, in front of the Taj Mahal, white marble, mixed jewels, a thousand tourists running up and down red steps, barefoot." Henry/Jasper, Henry/Kendall, Kendall/James. Slight crossover with Big Time Rush.


**Masala**

_By: Jondy Macmillan_

A/N: I don't know, it was begging to be written. I had to do it. The Schmidt brothers made me. I'm kind of taking liberties with Garko…and well, really, everything. Forgive me in advance. Also, this was originally intended as a oneshot. It then got really long. Uh, so, anyway. This has incest. In two different ways. The pairings are Henry/Jasper, with hints of Kendall/Henry and Kendall/James. Henry and Jasper are obviously cousins on the show, and then the actors who play Kendall and Henry are brothers irl, SO. If that squicks you out, don't read. Also, I wrote a large portion of this last year, when Unnatural History was still airing, and I like to think my writing has improved since then, so I apologize for that.

* * *

><p>People, as a rule, were easy to figure out.<p>

Jasper had heard the saying that things were never black or white; there were always shades of gray. Well, he sure as shit hadn't seen evidence of that. There was always one thing, one thing that he could grab hold of, that would epitomize who a person was, what they wanted in life. Money, success, power. And if he knew that one thing, well, it was like cracking a code.

He was intelligent. Perhaps not brilliant, not equipped with an eidetic memory like _some _people, but he was clever. A combination of book learning and cunning. The kind of smart that ended up on the cover of Forbes instead of accredited science magazines. In the future, he was going to be _somebody_.

For now, well…either way, it hadn't landed him many dates. Which wasn't really a problem. If Jasper bought into high school machismo, maybe it would have bothered him, but he'd always wanted more. His life wouldn't be defined by the cage-like walls of Smithson, the pedestrian cliques and the mediocre clubs. He didn't need macho posturing or fawning cheerleaders to get ahead. Those kinds of girls were puzzles he'd already solved. Hell, a three year old could've solved them. He'd moved onto bigger and better challenges.

Sometimes (all the time) he'd admit that it'd be nice to be popular, or have someone to make out with, but that was really just his hormones getting the better of him.

Occasionally, being a teenager was damaging to his intelligence.

So he'd cave; date a nice-but-nerdy, average-looking girl, get bored, and move on quick.

What really bothered him, what kept him awake at night, was the idea that there might never be a real challenge. He'd never meet anyone that could stand up against the enigma machine of his mind, never meet a cipher he couldn't crack.

And then Henry came along.

Well, Henry had always been around, in the background of Jasper's life. He was a streak of light in old family albums, a naughty quirk of lips disappearing behind a tree, a puff of blond hair hiding from the camera that he'd claimed might steal his soul. Jasper's interactions with his cousin up until now were few and far between, mostly scattered during his formative years, and had always included some kind of mockery, fighting, or trap that bit Jasper in the ass. He could remember as far back as being four years old, when Henry had somehow, accidentally-on-purpose managed to lock Jasper in his own room, effectively barring him from taking part in his own birthday cake. The kicker was, his door hadn't even had a fucking lock.

Yeah, Jasper was effectively pretty wary of the boy he'd written off as a modern day Tarzan, a hedonistic jokester who existed for the sole purpose of making Jasper's life a living hell.

Only, the Henry who came to stay wasn't fitting the way he should into Jasper's memories. Sure, he still had the class of a monkey and a slippery grasp on how to live in civilization, but there was a kindness that Jasper hadn't remembered. A deep rooted sense of honor that he couldn't recall. It felt like shoving a square peg into a round hole.

At first, it hadn't made a difference. Jasper had fought like hell to keep his cousin's life separate from his own. He didn't have a very big family, and wasn't used to being marginalized in his own home. Call it only child syndrome. When his dad started treating Henry like the little brother Jasper had never, ever wanted, it had been _irritating._

Then, somewhere out of the blue, the kid started to grow on him. Because, it was kind of miraculous, but Henry was something Jasper didn't understand. He was full of mischief and useless trivia about aviaries in Bhutan, completely fearless and filled with this childlike sense of wonder, and above all, infuriatingly noble. He was like this relic from King Arthur's court, if King Arthur had employed Buddhist samurai yogis or whatever the fuck it was Henry fancied himself.

Weird new wave spiritualists weren't exactly out of the ordinary in DC, a place that was an amalgam of political conservatism, history, and fresh generations of every brand of collegiate thinking. But that kind of fluff ball was less with the substance and more with the incense. And okay, Henry owned a lot of incense, but he was somehow _more_.

Jasper didn't get it.

More shockingly, he wasn't certain if he wanted to.

Henry had insinuated his way into Jasper's life, and now he was like the best friend Jasper had never had. Had never _allowed_ himself to have because people were simple, straightforward, not worth the effort. But no matter how simple-_minded_ Henry was, Jasper felt like maybe he was definitely worth keeping around.

Which was why he'd made it his mission to shake his cousin's total ignorance about socialization in the United States.

"Henry! Yo, Henry, my man, _we _are going to a _party._"

"A party," Maggie peered up at him, her dark eyes amused, and didn't she realize this was his room, not study hall? She was always fucking hanging around, "Whoop-de-doo."

"Yeah, notice how I didn't invite you."

He didn't mind Maggie. As far as girls went, she wasn't all that terrible. Smart, ambitious, and driven; she was almost enough to capture Jasper's full attention. Almost. Obviously she'd repressed some daddy issues that were manifesting into angry activism as a plea for attention, but she wasn't completely toxic, so there was that.

"Please. I don't need _you_ to invite me anywhere," Maggie did that thing where she was looking down her nose at him while at the same time looking up from beneath her eyelashes. It was that girl trick that Jasper never got a grasp on, condescending and attractive all at the same time, "I'm the school's resident party _planner."_

"Yeah, not this one," Jasper grinned, thumping the table with the palm of his hand.

"What?" Maggie grimaced, her nose wrinkling as realization dawned, and she said shrewdly, "You mean that total boozefest going down at Hunter's, don't you?"

"That I do."

"God, Jasper. Hunter's parties are basically an excuse for the popular kids to drink, act like apes, and preen about how awesome they are in a social forum, totally unsupervised," Maggie drawled, unimpressed.

"Which makes it no different from a party where no alcoholic beverages are served, then," Jasper replied good-naturedly.

"It's plenty different. I mean, you barely just went to your first _normal _house party. How do you think you're going to survive all that plus tequila? Alcohol makes people act like total frat boys."

"How can you even say that? You plan like, half the museum's dances. They have _champagne_. For the adults. Who I've never seen swinging from the chandeliers or anything. And those are parties. Kind of," Jasper frowned and muttered, "More funerary than happening, but that's probably not your fault."

"Hey! Quiet and subdued is better than drunk and messy any day."

Shrewdly, Jasper shot back, "You're just saying that because you've never been invited to one of Hunter's parties."

"Who invited _you_ anyway? Don't they know you're the school's resident pariah?"

"Har de har har. See, I'm laughing because your petty insults can't even come close to bringing me down. I'll have you know Lila Fortenberry delivered the invite _personally_."

"You mean she had to invite you because you overheard her talking about it in Bio."

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Jasper made a disparaging noise.

Henry was watching them with the kind of interest most people exhibited during tennis matches, his eyes drifting back and forth as they verbally sparred.

"What do you think, Henry?" Maggie crossed her arms smugly, "You agree with me, right?"

"Actually, I'd be interested to see the gathering rituals of popular cliques and how they compare to the dominant villagers in certain Amazonian tribes."

Jasper's lips quirked, "Uh, okay. I would have been perfectly happy if you'd just chant 'kegger' like a normal dude."

"I can't believe you two. It's-" Maggie bit her lip, obviously struggling to think of a reason for them not to go, "A school night," she finished lamely.

"Yeah, well, _mom_, my biological father already told me it's alright to go," Jasper crossed his arms, "He actually looked kind of proud."

"Of you getting a social life? It's only taken sixteen years."

"Jeal-ous," Jasper singsonged, reveling in complete immaturity. Maggie sort of brought that out in him. Well, a lot of people did. Intelligence did not equal adulthood, as his dad often reminded him.

He'd had to _beg_ to go to this stupid party. On his _knees_.

"I'm not-" Maggie insisted, Jasper already guiding her by the shoulders out of his room.

"Just- make sure you're not too hung over tomorrow! You've got to help me set up for the Cultural Immersion dance!" Maggie yelled after them as she started down the stairs, but Jasper was so focused on dragging Henry's shirt up over his head that he didn't bother replying.

"Cultural Immersion dance," he scoffed, "I don't get why we have to have one every time a new exhibit opens."

"It's not like the school is required to go," Henry replied, his voice muffled beneath the collar of his kurta, stuck under his chin, no matter how much Jasper tugged.

"Pssh, the school isn't. I'm the Dean's son. I'm required to go to every event the museum hosts. God, and Jewels of India," Jasper made a face, "Real original name they've got there."

Henry decided that his cousin wasn't making any headway with the shirt and his fingers snaked up between their chests, disentangling the fabric from beneath his face, "It makes sense. Historically, India is known to be a land filled with wealth. Gold, emeralds, rubies, and even diamonds. There's a reason the British were so reluctant to release their hold on the country in 1947."

Jasper's breath hitched. Henry had shrugged off his kurta with no effort at all, and now he stood there explaining the colonization of South Asia like it something people did half-naked, all the time. Without meaning to, Jasper's eyes traced the scars that littered Henry's chest, his shoulders, threadlike traces of white that wove between freckles scattered like stars and golden skin.

It was only after Henry's expectant pause that he remembered to breathe again, "Okay, but it's not like there are any actual gemstones at the exhibit. Just a bunch of dusty old artifacts."

Henry's lips thinned disapprovingly, "Those dusty old artifacts can teach us something."

"And now you sound like Maggie. Would you like me to call her back here so you can have an academic orgasm together? No?"

He watched Henry's chin jut out with sadistic pleasure, looking for any trace of a blush, a hint tingeing the shell of his ears or creeping up the side of his neck, but there was nothing. Henry was shockingly prudish when it came to talking about his sex-life, if he'd ever had one, and Jasper had tried everything to shock it out of him. He hadn't been able to pinpoint if his cousin was an incredibly experienced gentleman or if he was actually as naive about girls as Jasper.

Because, the truth? All that stuff about girls being crack-able codes was bullshit. Jasper did feel that way, a lot of the time; that nine out of ten females weren't worth the brain power he'd expend trying to get their attention. Which most wouldn't deign to give him even if he tried. But there was this other thing. He was a bit of a sci-fi geek; alien princesses and butt-kicking space captain-ettes filled his fantasies. He didn't want someone without star-fire in their eyes. And there wasn't a whole lot of starfire going around in high school.

Henry though, he had it. This look, like he'd seen the whole world and it hadn't been enough. His wanderlust was insatiable, and _attractive_ as fuck.

That was the other thing about Henry. His…appeal. It made Jasper squeamish, trickling heat in his veins and an uncomfortable hardness in his jeans.

He'd never even looked twice at a boy before, much less one he was related to.

But it was nothing. Just- sex.

Jasper really, really hoped it was just about sex.

Henry had no idea. Not about Jasper. Not about anything. Ever since he'd come to DC, everyone and everything had begun to revolve around him, and he didn't have a clue. It made Jasper think that Henry was used to having people bend to his every whim. That he thought living this way was normal.

"You don't have to be rude," Henry sniffed, turning so that Jasper could see the lines of his back, scars and tan, the notches of his spine.

"Fine," he said, "I'm sorry."

The blond incline his head ever so slightly, "Apology accepted."

Jasper let Henry pull him into the circle of his arms, sunburn feverish with warmth. He didn't know what to do with his hands or the jut of his chin; he didn't know why all of Henry's hugs were so tight, why the press of his cousin's ribcage and the steady thrum of his heart felt so familiar, so awkward.

"Right, so, let's get you dressed."

"I'm perfectly capable of dressing myself-"

"Yeah, you are, but there is no way I'm taking you out wearing yoga pants and a shirt made out of hemp."

"I-"

"You're going to wear _jeans_."

"Yours are too long on me," Henry's lips turned down, his voice petulant, "And tight."

"Suck it up, man. I'm going to make you into a rockstar."

He began digging through the closet before Henry could ask what a rockstar was.

* * *

><p>The party had <em>punch<em>. It was delicious, red, cold on Jasper's lips and warm in his throat. He felt like it colored everything in the mansion rosy, made it all glow.

When he'd first walked into Hunter O'Herlihy's place, he'd been nervous, wound tight, unable to breathe properly. Not only was it the realm of jockdom, brimming with meat-headed popular kids who'd been making it their sworn duty to harass Jasper on a regular basis since third grade, but the place was huge. He could deal with athletic bullies; he'd been holding his own long before Henry had ever arrived stateside, even if it involved getting shoved up against a few lockers and being beaned in the head with more footballs than Jasper could count. The key was making eye contact, refusing to back down, and occasionally offering to air their dirty laundry. Going to school with the same kids for the past ten years meant Jasper knew more of their business than they'd have liked, and he applied that knowledge liberally. But wealth, well, that was a whole different ballpark. The O'Herlihy's home felt every bit as big as a museum. The opulence was completely intimidating, despite the milling teenagers and the presence of kegs.

It was only Henry's arm brushing up against his that made the fear recede. And that was weird, feeling so completely safe as long as Henry was around, but Jasper was past dwelling on it, past questioning how _weird _everything had become in the past few months.

Then Jasper got handed a red plastic cup full of punch, and his pulse calmed all on its own, which brought him to now, blood sluggish in his veins as he sat on the grand, circular staircase and watched Henry kick some major ass at beer pong.

His cousin owned the table. He kept throwing Jasper the cockiest grins, like beating a bunch of drunk people was a huge achievement. Jasper wasn't completely sure Henry understood the entire point of drinking games was to _lose_; his partners had all surrendered after they realized they'd barely get to drink a single drop of beer, leaving Henry all alone. A team of one.

At least he wasn't going around, trying to explain the harmful effects of alcohol on the liver and being completely negatory, like Maggie would've. In fact, it was cool. Henry was all too often out of place in the halls of Smithson, but in the midst of all this revelry, he was almost acting kind of…normal. Like he was in his element. It made Jasper think that anthropologists really knew how to get their party on; this obviously wasn't Henry's first time swilling down liquor and schooling intoxicated idiots how to throw a ping pong ball with an arc.

Jasper _felt_ like an anthropologist, the way he studied Henry, observed the fluid grace from shoulder to elbow to wrist as his cousin's fingers released the ball, plopping it in the last cup on the opposing team's side. Henry turned, swiveled on one foot and began to do some ridiculous victory shimmy, lashes fanning his cheeks like crescent moons, pale, iridescent. When his eyes flicked toward Jasper, he grinned, called out, "Did you see that?"

Mutely, Jasper smirked and nodded, swirling his punch in his slick plastic cup so that he created a miniature whirlpool, moving at cyclonic speeds. Henry came to sit beside him and crowed, "How skilled am I?"

"Very," Jasper replied, "You decimated everyone here."

"It's all about the curvature of your wrist," the blond replied, and Jasper could tell he was about to launch into some convoluted explanation of how he came to triumph over all the jocks.

Before he could, Jasper shoved his drink into Henry's hands, the liquor still spinning, red like fruit punch, "Here."

Always amenable, Henry chugged the drink down, "Yum. It tastes like candy."

"Right? Let's get you some more."

It probably wasn't the most righteous of causes, getting his cousin shit-faced, but Jasper liked to think of it as educational. He was educating Henry about American teenage parties, and _getting_ educated about how grabby handed Henry got when he was three sheets to the wind. Besides, Henry didn't seem to mind, downing cup after cup with a good-natured smile.

For a few hours, they mingled with the popular kids, flying low under the radar. Jasper had never done this before, never moved around amongst his peers untouched by a single insult or rough jostle, like he wore some kind of invisibility cloak. Half of it was the fact that nearly everyone inside the mansion was wasted, more concerned with hooking up or throwing down or just plain throwing up than belittling the party crashing geek. But more of it, the part that mattered, was Henry's presence; his arm slung easily over Jasper's shoulder like a bodyguard, like a friend. Henry had mostly been received at Smithson as that uber-strange guy raised in the jungle, but at this party, his prowess was recognized. He'd owned the tables, defeated everyone who was anyone. A few people slapped him high five. A few greeted him like an old friend. And when he burped so loud after downing a beer that it practically shook the entire house, it was considered masterful instead of plain gross. In a single night, he'd metamorphosed.

And Jasper? Well, he wasn't the bossy, brainy, socially awkward nerd these kids had known since kindergarten any longer; he was cool by association, safe against the beer pong champ's side.

It was the highlight of his social career.

"You know Jasper, I think this was an excellent idea," Henry announced, stumbling over his own feet and digging his fingers hard into Jasper's collarbone to stay upright. Jasper sighed, tightening his grip on Henry's waist, pulling him in closer, hoping proximity might help with balance, "Really- really _excellent_."

"I know, man. You said that like, three times."

Okay, so being treated like he didn't have leprosy for a night by the popular clique had been pretty wicked, but in retrospect, maybe he shouldn't have gotten Henry this trashed. He reeked like a brewery, and Jasper was way too tipsy himself to even attempt smuggling either of them back home. He wasn't going to be able to drive, there wasn't a Metro station in sight, and there was absolutely no way they could walk. Henry was zigzagging across the carpet even _with_ Jasper's help.

"Oh. My. God," Henry gasped, and Jasper really had to sit him down and sort out which Americanisms it was alright to pick up and which were completely emasculating.

"What?" he asked tiredly, staggering beneath his cousin's weight. All that muscle wasn't just for show; it was fucking heavy.

"C'mon, c'mon, you have to see this," Henry yelled, and suddenly Jasper's shoulders felt lighter, a callused hand circling Jasper's wrist instead. Henry tugged him out of the O'Herlihy's mansion, out onto the dew-wet grass. Even in the silver moonlight, his skin looked golden.

"Look, look," Henry pointed up to the sky, where the stars seemed brighter, more visible than they ever had been before, "Full moon."

"Ok-ay?" Jasper frowned, unable to get why he had to see this.

"I love when the moon is full," Henry declared, giddy with it, "It always makes me feel like things are about to change."

"Maybe they are," Jasper said, and Henry smirked, falling back onto the grass, his arms spread wide like he was trying to hug the sky. It was ridiculous and absurd and kind of totally beautiful, the imprint of Henry's body on the unnaturally green lawn, the way he looked ephemeral, like he might disappear any second.

"I wish I had a picture of this."

A bark of laughter spilled from Jasper's lips, self conscious that he'd even let the sound out, but touched with pure happiness too. He wanted to capture this, the image of Henry splayed and loose limbed and content in the grass, pin it up on his wall so he could have it forever.

"I don't."

"Dude, the camera doesn't _actually _steal your soul-"

"No!" Henry grinned, his face shadows and light pooled side by side, "I don't know. A picture's a moment, frozen in time, forever. If you look at a picture of this when you're eighty, all you're going to see is me, smiling. And maybe you'll remember the story of what happened, how we got here, but it will be tinged, colored with the living memory, right in front of you. It won't be real, not like it would be if you had no picture at all, no smiles captured on camera. Then you'd remember everything; the fear you felt coming to this party, the way you finally _loosened up_-"

Jasper objected, "I'm always loose-"

Henry ignored him, way too articulate for a drunk person, for _Henry_, still talking, "_Everything_. You'd remember everything that lead up to me smiling, maybe, if you remembered anything at all. You might even remember this."

"What?"

The blond's lips twisted quick and devilish, and in a single, languid movement he'd pulled Jasper down to the grass beside him, spread out like snow angels on the lawn.

"Aw, awwww, now I'm all wet."

"It's just water, Jasper."

"But-"

"Hey, listen," Henry tugged his sleeve, instructing, "_Listen_."

Confused, Jasper glanced around, "To what?"

"Aum namah shivaya…" Henry murmured under his breath.

"And that means?"

The blond shrugged, "Something like, I bow to Shiva."

"And Shiva is?"

"A Hindu god, but that's not important. It's the beginning of a mantra, a chant that means you're ready to let the universe teach-" Henry paused, expression closing off, the corners of his mouth turning down, "Actually, it's just…one more useless thing I picked up that doesn't even matter here."

Jasper's chest clenched uncomfortably, and he lied, "No, I'm interested. Keep talking."

"The letter aum has a lot of meanings. It's one of the names of god, a symbol of power…but the one I always liked best was that it's the sound the universe makes. Aum," Henry said, drawing out the word so that it became a buzzing sound on his lips, "When you listen, you can hear it. In the wind, from the moon, from the stars. Can't you hear it?"

His eyes were distant, too distant, like he was all the way on the moon. Then they flickered shut. Jasper wasn't sure where this was coming from, if it was the alcohol or Henry being Henry or something more, something he couldn't guess at. Maybe it had to do with homesickness, with being in a place Henry didn't recognize but should've, unfamiliar and known at the same time. He figured it didn't matter, really.

Obediently, Jasper listened.

But there was nothing. Just him, Henry's soft breathing, the buzz of power lines down the street and the thumpthumpthump of bass from back inside the mansion, from the party. Occasionally a chirpy cricket spoke, like the crack of a gunshot in the otherwise silent night. The wind rustled through the grass, and maybe for just a second, Jasper thought he could hear something, a string of harmony that almost sounded like an '_mmm_', but then he lost it. It was gone, leaving him under the moonlight, with the thumpthumpthump of Henry's heart and the buzz of conversation at the party and the soft hum of the power lines. The rustle of insect wings and the kickdrum rhythm of his pulse beneath his skin.

It was an eventuality that Jasper had to get up, drag them off the lawn and home in the dead of night, his vision bleary and his foot on the gas pedal unsteady, liquor still coursing through his veins. They made their way through his darkened house with all the grace of elephants, and when they reached his room, the both of them tumbled onto Henry's hammock like puppies, piled one after another.

More accurately, Jasper caved beneath Henry, too tired to support him, too apathetic to push him off. He lie there, half crushed, the ropes digging into his back. He inhaled his cousin's scent, spicy, tangy, male, and wished maybe, that he understood. That he'd seen all the things Henry had.

When he closed his eyes, he couldn't hear the sound the universe made, but he could picture Henry perfectly, walking the streets of New Delhi, Mumbai, Bangalore, the sun scorching his hair blonder and blonder by the second, his eyes squinted, his kurta sweaty, glued to the flesh of his back. His feet blackened from walking too long, too hard. He could imagine him standing in Agra, in front of the Taj Mahal, white marble, mixed jewels, a thousand tourists running up and down red steps, barefoot. Jasper thought about Henry, following the footsteps of water buffalo and the tire tracks of bicycle rickshaws, of the way he'd laugh and joke with the local kids, brown skinned and bright faced, babies with kohl lined eyes and pretty girls in sarees like butterflies. He wanted to watch him eat papri chaat from a roadside stand, taste his masala stained hands, and sometimes, when Jasper really thought about it, he thought maybe Henry's appeal, his _attractiveness_ wasn't just about sex.

Jasper opened his eyes and he could still smell the curry-spice scent of India, the way his cousin's skin held the whole wide world. Then he snuggled in close to Henry on the hammock and tried not to think about it anymore.

* * *

><p>No matter what Henry said, hammocks were not comfortable beds. The following afternoon, Jasper was achy and sore. He made his way to the DOUM rooms reluctantly, not sure how to face his cousin when he'd woken up with his face cradled on his chest. He wasn't even sure Henry had noticed; Jasper had managed to extricate himself from their delicate embrace nearly half an hour before the other boy woke, but it didn't matter. Every time he looked at him over breakfast, in class, he felt this burning sense of shame, like he'd done something horribly wrong.<p>

Maggie was already there, dark head bent close to Henry's as they discussed something; probably the dance. Garko hung off the side, his smile wide open and friendly, but Jasper didn't like the way his eyes were trained straight on his cousin, the way his voice was tinted with flirtation. When Jasper entered, he moved behind Henry, feeling strangely possessive, "Broxton."

"Jasper, man," the grad student greeted him, "We were just talking about the dance."

The dude was like, twenty six. Way too old to be hanging out with a bunch of teenagers, talking about a high school _dance_. Jasper edged closer to Henry. Who was wearing one of Jasper's plain button downs. Jasper had barely enough time to notice that before he was barraged with more information.

"Specifically, entertainment. Maggie says they've got some famous band coming to play. She says they're the coolest thing in, uh…the history of ever," Henry said proudly, not looking embarrassed or ashamed at all. Which meant…Jasper didn't really know what it meant. Very little made Henry Griffin flinch.

The dark haired girl's cheeks colored and she squeaked, "I didn't put it like that."

"I think you did," Henry inclined his head to the side, and Jasper believed him, because he seriously doubted his cousin would make up phrases like 'the coolest thing in the history of ever', "Did I say it wrong?"

"Nope," Garko stifled a laugh, "You got it correct."

"Sweet," Jasper responded in a monotone, not really caring, "Who?"

Maggie bit her lip, "I don't- really want to tell you?"

"I'm going to find out eventually. I'm staffing the thing."

"Yeah, but- okay, you have to promise not to laugh."

Curiouser and curiouser. Now he was _dying_ to know. Few things shamed Maggie Winnock, although he would've loved to know her stance on sharing a hammock with a relative, waking up with mouths barely inches apart.

"I'm not sure if I can do that."

Henry jabbed him in the stomach with his elbow. It _hurt_.

"_Fuck_, dude! Fine, I promise. Jesus."

"Bigtimerush," Maggie spat out, averting her eyes to the highly entertaining stain on the wall before she could catch their reactions.

Henry's was pretty much his reaction everything; a wide eyed blank look that suitably displayed his lack of knowledge on slang, the internet, and now pop music.

On the other hand, Jasper and Garko were chuckling, laughing, full on hysteric.

"You. You like a _boy band_?"

"Shut up, they're really good, okay?"

"No, but- they're a _boy band_. I thought you only listened to like, independent rock bands with names no one else can pronounce."

Maggie's cheeks were flushed redder than Garko's Converse sneakers.

"No, no, I think it's _cute _that you're embarrassed," Jasper continued, and she finally lashed out.

"Look, at least they're famous, and the best I could do on short notice, and the last live entertainment we had for a school dance was a local string quartet!"

"Chill, dude. I'm not saying it's a bad thing," Jasper snorted, "I'm just surprised that you like them, is all."

"Agreed," Garko chimed in. Oh, right. He was _still_ there. Jasper frowned, uncomfortable with the sharp pang of nonsensical jealousy in his stomach. It was ridiculous; he'd never once had a problem with Garko before, never once felt this overwhelming urge to smash his face into a wall. It was…distracting, is what it was. Maggie glared at them both.

"And that's my cue. I'm out."

Garko turned to leave, ruffling his fingers through Henry's hair. Jasper kind of wanted to tear his throat out. No one else seemed to notice.

"I don't get it," Henry said, and that came as a surprise to nobody.

"You will," Maggie answered, a grin pulling at her lips, and she was _such _a secret fangirl, Jasper would never let her live it down, "We're meeting the band at the Dean's office in less than an hour to go over where they can set up."

"Goody," Jasper wiggled his fingers in the air. He so could not care about some stupid boy band right now.

* * *

><p>Jasper <em>so <em>cared about this stupid boy band.

For one thing, it was filled with ridiculously pretty boys. Like, one of them was even wearing _guyliner_. They were nice, cordial even, although their professional exterior seemed a little rough around the edges. But their niceness was contrasted by the fact that they were _way too pretty_.

Like the sudden development of Jasper's gut-clenching jealousy over every person who gave Henry a second glance, he'd never found male attractiveness to be a problem before. Guys being pretty- guys who weren't Henry- wasn't usually something that came up on his radar. Not even a blip.

Then again, he'd never before met a gorgeous, blond, athletic hockey player with a killer singing voice who liked to _flirt _with his cousin before, either.

Kendall Knight.

What kind of a name was Kendall? A girl's name, that's what.

Jasper was fully aware he was being a little paranoid. First Garko, now Kendall? But where Garko flirted with Henry, Maggie, and occasionally even Jasper in the clumsy manner most graduate students attempting to attain their PhD had- in other words, like he was using interns as practice runs for the real thing whenever he inevitably got his real life back- Kendall was dead serious. He'd turned the charm so high it was practically blinding, and Jasper _despised _him. There was no chance dorktastic Garko was going to succeed in wooing Henry.

There was a major chance that pop sensation Kendall might.

"You've been to China? Tell us _all_ about it," the tall singer was saying to Henry right this damn second, slinging a carefree arm over his shoulders and pulling him in close. Jasper felt his stomach churn.

"Tell us about the girls!" the hyperactive one, Carlos, interjected.

"They're nice," Maggie told Jasper fondly, obviously trying not to look completely starstruck.

"Nice?"

Maggie's eyes narrowed, "You don't think they're nice?"

"They're great," Jasper responded tonelessly.

"Great? Have you even heard them sing? They're fantastic."

"Dude, how could I not have heard them sing? They're all over the radio."

"How many times have I told you not to call me dude?" she did that really loud exhalation thing girls did when they were trying to pretend they weren't annoyed, "Go check if the food's arrived at the exhibit yet."

Jasper rolled his eyes, "Yes, master."

"I'm glad you know my name," Maggie snarked, and then immediately turned back to Big Time Rush, so that she could listen to Logan and Henry trade knowledge on Chinese water pollution or whatever.

The food was indeed just coming in the door when Jasper made it up to the main floor. The exhibit stood dark, alone, full of faded relics from a country so far away Jasper had trouble believing it was real. That was the other thing about Henry's presence; it was a constant reminder that Jasper had never been anywhere at all, other than Mongolia…and Niagara Falls on a field trip, once. He was about as worldly as the turtle he'd owned when he was nine, who'd never seen anything outside the pond Jasper's dad had scraped him from and the glass box he lived in.

He'd certainly never been to LA, or Hollywood, or anywhere off the Eastern Seaboard until the previous summer. Mongolia had been all Henry's doing, and _so didn't_ count. But Big Time Rush had done tours all over the globe, of their own volition. Jasper wondered if Henry would find that impressive, even if the guys had been living in luxury hotel rooms instead of mud huts.

Feeling vindictive, Jasper helped the caterers set up tables and bring up trays from the loading docks, snatching steaming hot samosas and pakoras each round, 'til his pockets were full. It wasn't like anyone would notice, but the act made him feel better anyway, like he was getting one up on Maggie and the band.

Half an hour later, he marched on back to his dad's office, a samosa half stuffed in his mouth and another ready to go. The things were _delicious_, especially dipped in the chutney he'd nicked from the end table.

Some of the hall windows were propped open, and dusk sounded alive, the buzz of early cicadas rising to a howl.

"You're back?" Maggie asked when he walked in, but only after he physically tugged her from her conversation with that Logan kid, "I mean- you're back! So guys, let me show you where the stage is set up, and you can relax until showtime."

"Sure," the tallest of them, James, Jasper thought his name was, replied with a wink. Jasper wondered if it hurt to have charm turned up that high, all of the time.

She lead them out into the main hall of the museum, weaving between glittering glass cases filled with crumbly bits of history. She knew the place like the back of her hand, having interned and acted as a docent for the majority of her high school career. Which is why it was kind of weird when she stopped.

Stopped and sighed and said, "I hate to say anything. I really do, but- doesn't it look like this display case is empty?"

Jasper stepped forward, tapping the empty glass, "Well, this isn't good."

"Yeah," Carlos snorted, "Why would they display an empty case?"

"They wouldn't, genius," Logan said, shoving him, "It's not supposed to be empty."

"How do you know? Maybe it's an invisible artifact."

Logan gave him a look.

Henry, close at that Kendall guy's heels, peered closer, "It's supposed to be Chandrashekhar Sitaram Tiwari's mala."

"What's a ma-la?" Jasper tasted the word, "Like mancala?"

"I love that game," Henry said, but then shook his head and put on his serious face, "No."

"And who's, uh, Chandra shekha tiwa- um. No, that's not right," Carlos scratched his head.

"He's better known as Chandrasekhar Azad," Maggie offered, tilting her head, and of course she didn't even have to look at the placard to know what she was talking about, "He was a revolutionary back when the British still had control of India. He, um, was really good at disguising himself. Evading capture."

"What's a mala?" Jasper hissed to Henry, pulling him away from Kendall. Who he did not like. At all.

"Prayer beads," Henry hissed back, "Why are we whispering?"

Jasper shook his head, ignoring the question. He said, "Oh, like a rosary."

"Not like a rosary. It's-"

"You're wearing my shirt," Jasper interrupted. Henry glanced down.

"I know. It's kind of tight."

"But why?"

"I didn't have any clean clothes," he ducked his head in a weirdly un-Henry like move. Jasper opened his mouth to say more, but then-

"Why'd everyone hate on the British?" James asked, "English girls are hot."

"They weren't the nicest rulers," Logan chimed in.

Maggie nodded, saying, "Chandrasekhar Azad didn't get involved in the revolution until the 1920s, after the Jallianwala Bagh massacre."

"The what now?" Kendall asked.

"It was a peaceful protest, at a temple in Amritsar. They, um, they killed everyone. Records say that a couple hundred people died, but history books estimate the real number is upwards of a thousand."

Logan frowned and said, "I've never heard of it. I don't really know much about this guy, either. I thought Gandhi ended British occupation."

Maggie said, "Azad originally joined up with Gandhi. He was even arrested. But after the non cooperation movement ended, he started using violence to get the message across. He started the Hindu Socialist Republican Association and worked with other revolutionaries to basically terrorize the British out of the country. The robbed a train in Kakori and shot a really important official in Lahore. Eventually the police caught up with him and he took out a bunch before he got shot. Then he killed himself."

"Happy story," James commented, making a face.

"He was an important part of Indian history. And now-" Maggie stared at the case. Jasper groaned.

"Seriously? Can't we have just one school event where nothing gets stolen or killed or destroyed?"

"Apparently not," Maggie replied.

"Wait, what's a mala?" Kendall asked good-naturedly.

"Like a rosary," Jasper shrugged.

Henry frowned.

"Not quite like a-"

"So, like, are you one hundred percent positive the rosary-"

"Mala."

"-right, that, are you one hundred percent positive that it's been stolen? Or at least a nice safe number, like eighty seven point fifty nine percent?" Logan piped in.

"Because," Kendall continued, "The cleaning crew could have taken it out- to, you know, clean."

"It's a priceless artifact, and it's nearly one hundred years old. You don't just slap some Clorox on it and say, okay, good as new."

"And you know this for a fact."

Maggie seemed slightly less starstruck and slightly more annoyed, "I'm a docent. Of course I know."

"Anyway, at this place, people steal things all the time. Trust me. Museum theft is the new bank heist," Jasper said with an eye roll for emphasis.

"Maybe someone really needs to pray," Carlos said. Jasper frowned at him.

"I bet it does something cool," Henry said suddenly.

"What do you mean?" Logan asked.

"Most of the stuff that gets stolen does something cool," Jasper explained.

He was not happy. Why did people always have to have such sticky fingers? How was this even his life?

Annoyed, he pulled a samosa from his pocket, chewing on the edges and completely ignoring the way the entire band's gaze snapped to him like dogs scenting kibble. He didn't feel like sharing.

Maggie said, "Chandrasekhar Azad was a master of disguise. Maybe the mala helped."

"So what you're telling me is that the rosary can what- make anyone look like someone completely different? Is it laced with LSD, or something?" Jasper asked through chews.

"It's not a rosary."

Logan's big brown eyes were darting back and forth between Maggie, Henry, and Jasper. He asked, "Does this happen to you three often?"

"A lot more than you'd think," Maggie shrugged.

"Lucky," Carlos said wistfully.

Through bites, Jasper mumbled, "Yeah, that's not how I'd term it at all."

"So what you're saying is," Kendall said, pausing for what seemed to be dramatic effect, "That we need to go track down this rosary."

"Mala," Henry corrected, but then he grinned, "And yes. That is exactly what we're saying."

"I'm pretty sure I didn't say anything of the sort," Jasper objected.

Henry and Kendall weren't even listening. They were already making plans about where to look, like amateur fucking detectives. The two of them standing side by side, brave, knights in plaid shirts, almost looking forward to meeting death with open arms, undaunted. Jasper's stomach turned.

He figured it was a reaction his eighth samosa and did what he was best at.

He ignored it.

* * *

><p>AN: There will be one or two more parts. Please review!


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